


but what is the reader to make of this?

by twopotatoshades



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Basically him waxing poetic about how much he loves Jem, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Will is sappy, blind!Jem, doting boyfriend!Will, excessive use of metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 17:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopotatoshades/pseuds/twopotatoshades
Summary: The story always ends with a battle won and a kingdom reclaimed, Will thinks.





	but what is the reader to make of this?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zachariahs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zachariahs/gifts).



> happy birthday, dumbass! have some blind!Jem tooth-rotting fluff for your salty ass
> 
> 'those delicious few words spread around like jam, don't matter, nor does the shadow.' - _but what is the reader to make of this?, anonymous_

The story always ends with a battle won and a kingdom reclaimed, Will thinks. The street is nothing less than chaos, with the approaching of Friday evening. The battle drags on, with screaming children and overly clingy couples and tottering old ladies. 

Will somehow manages to claim his reserved gift and walk out in a mere half an hour. With a muttered thank you, he shoves his way out of the store and rushes down the street. The kingdom remains grabbing and oblivious, minds set on different goals.

The crowd thins and Will heads down the last stretch of the path, flinging open the gate to his apartment and taking the steps three at a time. 

He reaches the landing of the shared apartment and fumbles with his keys, with frozen fingers- even in early March, the frost around the selfish land hasn’t melted yet. They continue to jeer and whisper and stay grey at people different from themselves- nothing compared to the myriad of colours the man inside is. 

Ever since his accident, Jem has been a prince to Will- locked up and crippled but as determined as he had ever been. Will was the squire in the castle, loving the prince with all his. He’d broken down the walls of his cell and they run away, hands interlocked. 

The door opens and Will tumbles in with a relieved sigh. Though there isn’t a fireplace like in those fairytales, there is Jem, and he burns brighter and more beautiful than any flame they could make besides their own. 

‘William,’ comes the prince, and the squire is used to bowing down to kiss his feet, but here’s the plot twist- the prince loves the squire as much as he, him. So he puts his arms around his lover, and kisses him square on the mouth. 

‘James.’ 

It seems like madness- buying him a gift on a mundane Friday because his heart sang for him. The Braille version of A Tale of Two Cities rests in the paper bag.

But then again, we escape reality by writing our own, so what madness is there to talk about? 

Will pulls away from Jem- warm, beautiful, shining Jem- to kiss over his closed eyelids, the corner of his mouth, between his eyebrows. Jem laughs. 

‘What’s this?’ he asks, feeling the bag in Will’s hand. Will hands it over, and Jem’s misted-over eyes are molten silver. Faraway and cautious.

The protagonists always are, in new surroundings. But they jump anyway.

‘It’s a book,’ Will offers, and Jem’s eyebrows go up. ‘I ordered it, the Braille version of A Tale of Two Cities.’ 

Jem is silent for a moment, then looks up. He’s in sweatpants and standing in the dingy entrance hall of their shitty apartment. In the back of his mind, Will sees fine silk and a throne, but he’s too selfish to say anything. 

They were all human, after all, and Will really shouldn’t criticize the kingdom, but Jem is so good, so gentle and soft, that he forgets what it’s like sometimes.

He wonders if that’s such a bad thing.

‘What do you think?’ Will asks, always eager for praise from his prince. 

Jem smiles, and it’s purple and yellow and orange, and pulls him down for another kiss. 

James Carstairs kisses the way no one expects: determined and wanting and so full. Regal. Close. He opens his mouth and coaxes Will to do the same, smiling into the space between them. 

_Beautiful, beautiful,_ Will thinks. His eyes are closed, like Jem’s.

‘I love you.’ Jem says. The prince isn’t supposed to run this far, he isn’t supposed to be fearing for his life. He shouldn’t have had to jump off the cliff in the first place. 

But by loving Will Herondale, Jem takes his hand and they fall together, wrapped around each other. 

‘I love you.’ Will says too, moving his hands down Jem’s slim waist and massaging the hip bones. He knows that Jem has to be tired from sitting all day, and he knows that when it comes to Jem, he’s nothing but a peasant- weak and powerless. 

But he knows other things too, and he’s the only one who does. Like the way Jem smiles in the morning, watery green and sleepy. Like the way Jem sings in the shower. Like the way he sets his shoulders when someone goggles or points at him. Like the way he looks, with a flush on his high cheekbones and head thrown back in pleasure. Like the way he holds Will afterwards, because they’re both weak and powerless and they need each other to carry on. 

From the moment they broke free, committed the highest act of treason, Will knew that this was a story he never wanted to end. A battle neverending, the homeland always in his arms. 

For all the mockery and teasing, they would soldier on like they always had, putting on a thousand faces they didn’t recognize. But they would always peel those layers off to worship the other, to paint over the darker parts with their own colours. 

And what was life, without Jem Carstairs?

**Author's Note:**

> i have too many feels for metaphors and blind!Jem and love
> 
> kudos and comments are much appreciated!


End file.
